Thus, when the Wednesday came which was to see Betty's quilt upon the frames, Sara left baby, with many instructions, to the children; and, dressed in her best, wended her way to the low brown house in the edge of the pine grove, where Betty lived with her parents, and an overflowing household of younger children, and whence she was not sorry to go to the smaller, but less crowded cottage of young Nathan Truman, second mate of a schooner, of whom she was as proud and fond as if he had been captain of an East Indiaman, with both a town and country house. To-day the front room, which resembled Sara's, only that its furniture was far more battered and worn, was cleared of everything but a row of chairs, which followed the length of its four walls in lines as even and true as those of an infantry regiment "dressed up" to the toe- mark for inspection; and through the centre, upon the rude and clumsy frame, was stretched a quilt of wonderful construction and a blinding confusion of colors. It was a "Remembrance Quilt," Betty explained, as soon as the company had arrived and filled the funereal rows of chairs, being pieced from bits given her by all of her friends and acquaintances.
"Here," she said, indicating a point of brick-red calico which helped to form a many-rayed figure, whose round centre was in bright yellow, "is the first new dress ma had after she got merried, and here," indicating a lilac muslin with white spots, "is her weddin' gown itself. Then there's a bit of the dress 'at was found on thet gal 'twas cast ashore ten year ago; and there's a piece o' thet one 't Zeba Osterhaus hed on when she hed her pictur' took, an' these," blushing brightly, "are scraps o' my own dresses thet I ain't wearin' yet. Then there's hunderds more, but I guess you'll reco'nize most on 'em. I've pieced it 'star- pattern', ye see,—an' do ye know?—there's one thousand an' ninety pieces in thet thar very quilt!"
There was a universal cry of admiration and astonishment at this triumphant announcement.
"How long did it take you?" asked Zeba, examining the pattern and workmanship with renewed interest.
"Wall, I've been at it now this goin' on two year; kep' it fur ketch-up work, ye know."
"Wall, we'd better set to," sniffed Mrs. Updyke, fitting on a huge steel thimble open at the top; "they ain't much arternoons to these short days, anyhow. I'll take this star, an' you, Sairay, may work on the next, so't I kin kinder watch ye. 'Twon't do to hev any botch-work on this quilt."
Sara obeyed, but not with alacrity. It only needed the added discomfort of Mrs. Updyke's supervision to make her quite wretched; but Miss Prue, at the other end, happened to look up just in time to see the disconsolate air with which the girl drew her chair forward, and called out sharply,—
"Why, what are you doing over there, Sara? I thought, of course, I could depend upon you to thread my needles for me;" and Sara, not daring to show her pleasure at this release, made a gentle word of excuse to Mrs. Updyke, and crossed the room to her friend.
"Oh, thank you!" she murmured, dropping beside the older maiden, who was chuckling slyly; "I couldn't have sewed well at all there, she frightens me so."
"Humph! Well, she needn't, for there isn't a poorer needlewoman in Killamet. There's the queer thing about that woman—she can't really do one thing well, yet her satisfaction is complete." All this in an undertone, entirely covered by the scraping of chairs, rustling of dresses, and wagging of tongues, as the company drew up to their positions around the masterpiece; and still thus protected, Sara whispered on,—
"But, dear Miss Prue, tell me, isn't such a piece of work an awful waste of time? Calico is only a few cents a yard now, and it does not take such a great deal."
"But think, my child," interrupted Miss Prue with a solemn look, "these remembrances!" And, as if by chance, her finger dropped upon an ugly chocolate colored bit both remembered as having been worn by a poor crazed creature called "Silly Jane," who belonged in the county house, but spent a good deal of time wandering about the shore.
Sara burst into one of her rare laughs, and Betty called out,—
"What's the fun, Sairay? Pass it 'round, can't you? We've been a- wonderin' what you 'n' Miss Prue was a-gigglin' over!"
The idea of Miss Prue's "giggling" rather shocked Sara; but that lady answered at once,—
"Andwe've been wondering if anybody else would ever take the time to do such a piece of work as this."
"Oh!" cried Betty, quite complimented, "I guess there's plenty would; I enjoyed it! It's such fun, when you're j'inin' the pieces together, to call up where you seen 'em last, an' what the folks that wore 'em was doin'."
"Well, there's something in that I'll admit; but do you need a piece of my dress to recall my personality to your memory always, Betty? If I've got to cut my clothes into bits"—
"Oh, no'm," laughing; "but it's different with you. We'd all remember you, of course, but there's some, now"—
"Silly Jane, for instance? I see you've a piece of her usual gown."
Betty hardly knew how to take this, but Miss Prue looked so pleasant and kind, she laughed again.
"Wall, in course, there ain't much to remember her for; but she was about the only one in town 't I hadn't been to, so I thort I wouldn't leave her aout, ye see."
"Yes, I see," stooping to bite her thread; at which Mrs. Updyke sniffed out,—
"Wall, fer my part, I think it's a purty nice thing when a gal spends her time in sich work; she cain't be doin' anythin' wuss" (sniff), "that's sartain!"
Miss Prue laughed.
"Makes me think of Grannie Green. When her rot of a husband used to be sleeping off his sprees, she'd say, 'I'm allers so thankful when he gits real far gone, fur then I'm sure he cain't be doin' anythin' wuss.'"
"Dear me!" bridled Betty, "I hope you don't mean to compare me to thet wretched old Jed Green!"
"No, my dear; but I used to wonder, then, if he couldn't have been doing something better,—but there! It wasn't to discuss poor old Jed Green that I came here; but, first, to work on this wonderful quilt, and, second, to ask you girls why you don't get Sara to form you into a society of King's Daughters here?"
"'King's daughters?' We look like king's daughters, don't we?" titteredDolly Lee.
"Very much," said Miss Prue, with that air of hers which made her so great a favorite, an air ofbonhomie, almost impossible to describe. "We've been told on good authority that we are made in the King's image, so it must be true."
"Oh!—that?" cried Betty.
"Certainly; you didn't think we free-born Yankees—descendants of the Puritan Fathers—were going to claim relationship with any of those effete European aristocracies, did you?" with a droll look at Sara.
"N—no."
Betty, not half understanding, but fully aware of Miss Prue's drolleries, was determined not to be caught in any trap now, so kept to monosyllables; and the latter, having created sufficient interest to insure a hearing, proceeded to make her explanations in regard to such a circle.
In a small, isolated village anything which links one, even distantly, with the great throbbing world outside, is eagerly welcomed by the young. These all have their dreams, hopes, and fancies connected with this sphere on which we move, and they are usually far too wide to be contained within one square mile of territory; unless, perchance, that mile teems so thickly with humanity as to offer every possible form of comedy and tragedy. For it is not trees and hills and skies, or even the sea, which can satisfy youth; but living, breathing, suffering human nature. By and by they tire, perhaps, of the latter, and go back to nature,—in love, as they have never been with man,—but that is after disappointment has made the heart sore.
To-day the thought of allying themselves with thousands of other girls and women in the effort to do good, set every pulse to new beating, that had ever throbbed with one spark of love for the Master; and there succeeded one memorable quilting where Dame Gossip was almost entirely excluded. As they scattered for home, after Betty's nice supper, Sara found herself, as usual, at Miss Prue's side; and, looking up into her friend's face, said, with a mischievous smile,—
"So that's why you wanted me to go to the quilting, is it? If you had told me"—
"You wouldn't have gone!" interrupted her friend promptly. "I know you so well, Sara! There's a—a—well, an aloofness about you that I feel it my duty to struggle with," giving the girl a merry glance; "somepeople might call it pride,—I don't."
Sara looked troubled.
"I know you think so, Miss Prue, but I'm sure I don't feel so. What, indeed, have I to be proud of?" sadly. "Only," with more spirit, "I can't tell all I know to every one, and it bores me dreadfully to have them tell me all they know!"
Miss Plunkett laughed with enjoyment. She liked to rouse Sara occasionally; and listened with dancing eyes as the latter continued,—
"Now, yesterday, Zeba and Dolly came to call (by the way, I was reading your Ruskin's 'Stones of Venice' so think what it was to be interrupted!), and what do you suppose they talked about every minute? Why, it seems Mrs. Felcher has a brother living in Boston, who has invited her to visit him, and sent her a box of pretty things; they named over every one, even to a 'frame-bunnit covered with sating, and with a bunch of blows on top!'"
Miss Prue had grown grave.
"Yet poor Zeba could teach us both a grand lesson in cheerful patience," she said gently.
Sara crimsoned, but did not answer for a moment. They had reached Miss Prue's gate now, and the latter turned into it. "Wait!" the girl then said, almost passionately. "I am not worthy to be a King's daughter! Leave me out of your ten; tell them I can't live up to the simple requirements; I"—
"Hush! Sara," laying a hand on her young friend who was quivering with feeling, "I understand it all; you think the Lord has put you into a niche where you do not belong, for which you have no fitness. Are you sure you know more than your Maker? Perhaps He sees that, by clipping a bit here, or adding a trait there, you will be exactly the one for this niche. Why don't you try and help this beautiful plan, instead of hindering it?" Then, with a quick change of tone, "Well, good-night, daughter; remember the first meeting of our circle next Thursday: I shall depend upon you!" and she hurried in, not giving time for another word.
Sara went home with slow steps, and a questioning heart.
"Am I cold and proud?" she thought. "Is it wrong to be indifferent to these petty things about me, and to love books better than people? Do I look for defects rather than virtues, I wonder? Oh, dear; how much harder it is toberight than to _do right in this hard world!"
She opened the cottage door, and saw a sight that drove away all other thoughts; for there sat Uncle Jabez Wanamead in close conversation with Morton, while Molly, open-mouthed, was holding baby, and drinking in every word. It was a great shock to Sara; for having returned to the battle with her brother, fresh-armed with authority, after Glendenning's departure, she had made such an impression upon him that she supposed he had entirely given up his dream of being a fisherman, and was now only thinking of a flitting to Boston. But, evidently, from his flushed, interested face at present all her labor was in vain. Uncle Jabez rose awkwardly as she entered, with a "Good-evenin', Sairay, thort I'd call 'round a spell."
"Good-evening," she said, constraining herself to be pleasant. "It is growing warmer out."
"Yaas, looks like a break-up, some, makes a feller think o' the Banks these days. Thort I'd see what Mort hed laid aout to do 'bout shippin' 'long o' me."
"He is not going," said Sara promptly. "I have other plans for him," with a beseeching look at the boy, who avoided her eye.
"Wall, in course, jest es ye say, but I do s'pose, ef Reub Olmstead was alive naow, his word would be go."
Sara winced. During all this struggle she had been cruelly hampered by her feeling that, possibly, she was acting entirely against what was likely to have been her dead father's wishes, and now this fear rose so strongly again as almost to paralyze her.
"If he were only here—if I could put the responsibility into his hands—if I had any one," she was saying to herself, when there came a thought that calmed her, as the mother's voice calms a frightened child. "I have a Father; why don't I put it in his hands?"
Her rigid face relaxed into a lovely smile, and, looking at her brother with the winning sweetness she could assume at times, she said,—
"I will say no more about this matter, Morton; you have only our heavenly Father to answer to now. Decide as you think is right. Uncle Jabez, will you give him till to-morrow?"
"Sartain, sartain; and, see here, my boy: I'm free to say I've urged ye to go, fur I need a clipper-built little feller like you; but I say naow, ef I hed as good a sister's you've got, I'd think twicet afore I went agin her, an' thet's the truth."
There was no mistaking his earnestness; and as he picked up his old tarpaulin, and shook hands with Sara in farewell, the respect and friendliness of his manner thrilled her with pleasure and surprise. After he had gone she talked lightly about other matters, had a frolic with Molly and the baby, helped Morton with his examples, and mended a coat of his which had come to grief, all as if there were not a care upon her mind, and indeed there was none; she had cast it on the Lord.
Morton was very quiet all the evening, but just before he mounted the steep steps to his chamber in the loft he came to her side.
"Sara," he said.
She looked up sweetly.
"I've decided." "Yes, Morton?"
"I'm going to stay at home."
"My dear, good brother!"
She drew him down and kissed him tenderly, while the tears stood in the eyes of both; and from that moment there was a new bond between them, stronger than the past had ever known.
One day some weeks later Morton came in with a large roll from the post- office, and threw it into Sara's lap.
"Ah!" she said eagerly, "it is Professor Grandet's hand; what can he have sent me?" and hurried to tear the wrapper open.
Inside were several articles in pamphlet form, two being his own composition, and the rest by another well-known scientist, all relating to the strata and minerals of this very portion of the coast. Being just then at leisure, she began one in which a certain sentence had caught her attention, and soon looked up with an air of excitement. "See here, Morton! This is certainly a mistake; and in B——'s paper, too," reading aloud a certain statement in regard to the rock formations about a mile inland. "He has, you see, made the same mistake we did at first in regard to the dip of that vein, and which we afterwards discovered to be wrong, when we came across the outcropping near the old Judd farm. Don't you remember?"
"Yes," said Morton, dropping his fish-lines to come nearer; "let's hear what he says about it."
She read him a page or two, and they talked the matter over still further; then she continued her reading, only to break out again after a little.
"Listen, Morton! Professor Grandet is with us. He isn't sure, but, from surface indications, he thinks just as we do, and the two men are having a great argument. They're going to discuss the matter next week before the Geological Society. Do you know, I'm half tempted to write Professor Grandet what we have discovered? It might make it perfectly clear to him."
"Well, I would," said Morton, going back to his lines, more interested in them than in what, had he known it, was to have a great and lasting influence on his own and sisters' lives.
So next day Sara seated herself, with an old atlas for a desk, and wrote with care and precision what she had to tell; then, directing the missive, she went to the old teapot in search of the two cents to pay its postage.
As she lifted the lid and peered in, a sigh escaped her, for the little store of silver and copper was getting low; soon it would be necessary to take another bill from the roll of greenbacks so carefully hoarded; and the thought alarmed her, for already it was greatly reduced in size; then, remembering the lesson of dependence she was trying to teach herself, she took out two of the pennies, and resolutely replaced the lid, resolving not even to think of what it was, apparently, beyond her power to remedy.
Yet she could not keep herself quite free from worry these days. Each change of season in our fickle climate means expense; and now the spring was coming on, bringing its especial needs, her feeling was often one of sick despair. It is so hard for the young to learn simply to wait; and poor Sara felt that, to make the outlay necessary for the reception of summer boarders, would actually impoverish them, and then—what if the boarders never came? The thought was appalling!
In this frame of mind she was putting on their frugal supper of dried herring, with baked potatoes and salt, a few weeks later, when Morton dashed in.
"My gracious, Sara! I believe you get more mail than even SquireScrantoun. Just look at these!"
There was another roll, evidently pamphlets, and two letters,—one from Professor Grandet, the other in an unknown hand. She hurriedly opened the professor's, and struggled through its tangled and much abbreviated chirography, looking up finally with a pale, puzzled, yet radiant face. "I can't quite make it out. I think—it seems to say that my letter has done him much good; he says it was read before the society, and is printed somewhere."
"Perhaps it's in that paper book," suggested Molly, looking up from a shell box she was making.
"This? why, yes; I didn't think,"—tearing it open. "This seems to be aReport of the Twelfth Annual Meeting"—
"Oh, do look and see if it's got your letter in!" broke in impatient Molly, springing up, and letting her shells drop in a pearly shower to the floor.
Sara turned the leaves excitedly, then stopped; and her sweet face flushed a vivid crimson.
"It is—it is here—in print—just as I wrote it; and it says, 'Letter from Miss Sara Olmstead, of Killamet, in which the vexed question is definitely settled.'"
Many of us have experienced the tingling rapture of seeing our opinions in print for the first time; but it could be to few what it was to Sara, isolated, and of humble station as she was. It seemed as if that thrill of pleasure came from the very centre of her being, and tingled even to her finger-tips, while Morton and Molly, more demonstrative, if not more glad, danced about her with regular whoops of delight; after which the former mounted an uncertain chair for a rostrum, and read off the modest, concise, and clear little epistle with a flourish that ending in a crash, as the chair gave way, and landed him in the midst of Molly's shells, with crushing effect.
"Oh, oh!" laughed Sara, "do be careful;" while, with a scream of dismay,Molly fled to the rescue of her treasures.
Amid the hubub the excited girl had almost forgotten the other letter; but, as quiet was restored, she opened it, and read, with such astonishment as no words can depict, this business-like note:—
Miss Sara Olmstead:
Dear Madam,—On recommendation of Professor Grandet, after reading your letter lately published in the Twelfth Report of the M. G. and M. Society, I am empowered by the Board of Control of Dartmoor College to tender you a position in the Geological Department, as assistant to Professor Macon, in charge. The duties are not heavy,— mostly classification and correspondence,—and will only require your attendance six hours per diem. The salary is ten dollars per week. Please reply, stating your decision, as soon as possible, and address,
Yours truly,
Sara looked up with something like awe.
"Morton," she said in a tone that almost frightened him, it was so solemn, "the Lord is taking care of us; we needn't have any more fear now, for we are safe with him."
I think few people sat down to a happier, though not many to a more frugal meal than theirs that night. Sara had not then a misgiving in regard to her fitness for the position; she was so filled with the impression of its being heaven-sent, that she felt, as did the apostles of old, that "words would be given her, what she should say," and wit also, what she should do. As to the salary, it seemed princely to these modest little folk; and the only wonder was, how they should ever spend it.
"But how will you manage about baby? I don't suppose they'd let him come to college," giggled Molly, with her mouth full of potato, at which she naturally choked, and had to be patted on the back by Morton, who perhaps performed the ceremony with more vigor than was necessary.
"There! there! Morton, gently dear. Now, Molly, don't speak again till you've swallowed your food. Of course I will have to find some good, trusty person to look after baby while I'm gone, for I mean you both to go to school every minute that you can."
The child made a wry face at this.
"And I just know they'll have it most a hundred weeks in a year; they always do in big cities, Hattie Felcher says so."
"No, they don't," said Morton promptly.
"Well, I guess she knows, Mort Olmstead! Her uncle lives to Boston, and"—
"Well, she don't, if she says that!" calmly boning his sixth herring.
"She does too!" red with excitement; "she was there visiting when she was a baby, and she"—
"Hush, Molly! Morton, why will you be so tantalizing? Think a minute, dear, and tell me how many weeks there are in a year; then you'll see what Morton means."
Molly, after an instant's calculation, saw the point, and shot a wrathful glance across the table.
"Well," she remarked, in a judicial summing up of the matter, "you may think you're smart, but that don't help your fare and hands from being so greasy they're just disgusting; and I don't care, so!"
"Neither do I," said Morton, calmly attacking his seventh herring, and his hot-headed little sister, as usual, was vanquished by his superior coolness and precision.
This time even Miss Prue was satisfied, and entered heartily into all the plans and arrangements for the flitting, while Morton forgot his own disappointment in the interest of this great change.
They were in the midst of the packing, Sara, Miss Prue, and Morton, with Molly guarding the baby, who had a savage desire to snatch at everything and destroy it, when the elder maiden laughed out,—
"Sara, I've a scheme; you can let the house as a summer cottage, instead of taking the boarders I once insisted upon. Now, come! Isn't that an idea?"
"If I can't sell it," said Sara.
"Of course, but then you can't. Nobody ever sells anything in Killamet except tobacco. I doubt if you could give it away!"
Sara smiled and sighed in a breath.
"I'd hate to do either, but I fear it will never be our home again, so why cling to it? But really, do you suppose any city family would be satisfied with this?" indicating the large, littered room with a sweeping gesture.
"Why not, just for the summer? They crowd into far more uncomfortable places, I'm sure. I can imagine this room with pretty rugs and cane chairs, and a hammock slung across the alcove, and a pinebough ablaze in the fireplace, being a most attractive nook some cool summer evening, after a long day of blue-fishing; and there's one nice bedroom besides the loft."
Sara shook her head dubiously.
"I wish some one would take it, but I'm afraid it will have to stay closed and useless. Molly, Molly! Do watch the baby; he's just starting for the best glass sugar-bowl with the hammer, and I think he has some tacks in his mouth."
Baby having been made to disgorge his too sharp repast, the talk ran on to other things, Miss Prue giving much valuable advice on "How to live on ten dollars a week;" but the sage maxims were so interspersed with hammerings, hunts, and hurry, that I fear much of their value was lost on Sara.
It happened to be a fair day when they left for the new home, and it seemed as if all Killamet turned out to bid them God-speed. They ate their last dinner with faithful Miss Prue, then, accompanied by a goodly little procession, walked down to the beach, where Jasper Norris, who had somehow happened home a few days before, was waiting with his tidy little wherry to row them across the bay to Norcross, where they would reach the railroad, their goods having been sent by wagon a day or two before. It was curious to see how differently each of the Olmstead group was affected by this leave-taking.
Sara was pale and still, and her beautiful, sad eyes heavy with unshed tears; Morton had an air of manliness new and good to see, and seemed determined to look after every one and everything; Molly's cheeks were red, and her eyes aglow with excitement, as her feet danced over the white sand, while baby laughed at the surrounding friends with charming impartiality, and talked every minute in his own particular dialect, which eye and motion made almost as intelligible as the queen's English.
At length they stood on the crescent beach, the sea rolling in at their feet, as Sara had watched it so many times. A fresh April wind curled the waves into fluffy white turbans (as Molly observed), and an April sun gave them an almost blinding sparkle. Each lighthouse gleamed whitely across the bay, and the tall cliff rocks stood out in bold relief against the dazzling blue of the sky; but Jasper saw it all as through a mist, for his heart was heavy.
What did this departure portend? Would it break up their life-long friendship? He was glad to see his mother take Sara's hand, and, as she kissed her tenderly, exact a promise that she would write occasionally.
But when the others crowded around, each eager for the last word, he turned away and busied himself with his tiller-rope, sick at heart. At last the good-bys were all said; Morton had taken his seat at the rudder, and Molly was nestled with baby on a cushion in the bottom of the taut little boat, when, just as Jasper was holding out a hand to help Sara aboard, she turned and gave a last, long, lingering look over the quaint little town in its radiant setting of sea and sky.
"Good-by, all—all I love!" she said brokenly, then turned to Jasper, and was soon silently seated in her designated place.
The young man, also silent, took up the oars to fit them into the rowlocks, when suddenly Molly was seen scrambling to her feet.
"Wait, Jap, wait!" she cried eagerly, and leaping over the seats, sprang lightly ashore.
"Why, what is it?" "Have you lost something?" "What can the child want?" were some of the questions showered after her from boat and beach, as she was seen to stoop and plunge a quickly bared arm into the water.
She drew it forth again, and held up something green and many-clawed.
"It's just a lobster I saw," she said calmly, as she climbed back to her place with the surprised crustacean gingerly suspended from her dripping hand. "We can boil it to-morrow, Sara, then I'll have the claws to suck; where shall we put it so't it won't grip the baby?"
The laughter called forth by this characteristic escapade effectually dispelled all tears and sadness.
Even Jasper grinned, as he handed the creature on to Morton, to be thrown into the bait-box under the stern-seat, and, amid lighter sallies and laughter, instead of tears, they rowed away. But Sara's eyes rested upon her well-loved birthplace until they had rounded the lighthouse, and the familiar scene was quite shut out by the intervening tongue of land.
It was about mid-afternoon when the little party entered the railway coach at Norcross; and this being Molly's first glimpse of a train of cars, her eyes would have put an owl's to shame for size and roundness, as she sat on the very edge of the seat, and stared uneasily about her.
Jasper, having fixed them comfortably, gave a hurried hand to each, leaving the last for Sara. He had thought a dozen times just what he would say to her at parting, but everything went out of his head in the nervousness of that last anxious moment, with the engine apparently determined to run away with all who would linger over their farewells, and he simply uttered a choked "Well, good-by, Sairay!" as he held her hand an instant in a trembling clasp.
"Good-by, Jasper, I shall not soon forget your kindness; but do hurry off before the train starts." So does the rush and rattle of modern times overpower romance and sentiment.
But, safe on the station platform, he watched the one window he cared for with misty eyes, while Sara on its other side felt that the last of home was leaving her, while before her stretched only a strange, untried, uncertain future.
The train started with a shriek, faintly echoed by excited Molly, the bells clanged, belated men swung themselves up to the rear platform, there was the quick panting of impatient haste through the monster's whole length, till the jerks settled into a contented glide, and Molly's distressed puckers broadened into a smile of delight.
"It's like flying!" she gasped, turning from her intent gaze out of the window. "Everything's flying, only the trees and fences all go the other way. I tell you I like it!"
Dartmoor was about a three hours' ride distant, so it was not yet dark when they reached there, and were met by Madame Grandet, who had been in the college town with her husband for a fortnight. How good it was to see her charming face again! Sara felt the stricture of forlornness and fear about her heart loosen suddenly at sight of her.
"Here are you all then, quite safe and well!" she said merrily, as she took the baby from his sister's tired arms, "and I have a carriage for you; pray follow." They obeyed; and soon the party were driving through the broad, quiet streets, bordered by old elms and maples whose summer foliage must stretch a green canopy quite across them, thought Sara. She gazed about her, and was delighted with the comfortable, old-time look of the deep-verandaed houses, set solidly in the midst of green lawns, outlined by winding shell walks of dazzling whiteness.
Once she uttered a cry of pleasure, as they crossed a large green park interspersed by broad avenues, with a pile of gray stone buildings surrounding three of its sides, while elms of rare height and grace were scattered irregularly over its velvety surface.
"It is the campus that you now see," said the madame, answering the question in her eyes, "and those large buildings are of the college a part. Do you observe over this way, to our right, a wide, wide arch with a statue above? It is the entrance to the museum, in which you do work, and this beautiful street we drive upon, it is the College Avenue, and here are the homes of the faculty that we now pass."
"Do we live with the faculty?" inquired Molly, whose neck seemed in danger of dislocation, so constantly did she keep it twisting and turning.
"Ah! no, hardly so," laughed the madame; "it is on a little street that I do find apartments for you, but it is nice there; I do hope you will be pleasured."
"Oh, I'm sure we will! Baby dear, don't chew your pretty cloak-strings, you will spoil them. Ah! is this the place?" as they whirled around a corner and stopped shortly in a narrow but clean court, surrounded by small, trim cottages with tiny squares of green in front.
The madame led them up a gravelled foot-path—there were no fences—to a door in one of these, which she opened and entered.
"Follow, follow!" she called out merrily, and flitted up the narrow, uncarpeted stairway. She stopped at the head of this, and stood till all had gathered about her in the dim little hall-way, then, with a graceful flourish, cried, "Behold then!" and threw wide a door.
There was a universal shout of satisfaction, which made the madame's eyes dance, while Sara's grew misty with feeling; for that kind little Frenchwoman had almost settled their rooms for them, doing all an outsider could do, so that the bare, homeless look many of us can remember when newly entering a tenantless house, was quite removed.
After the first pause of surprise, the children began running wildly about, while the madame and Sara took it more leisurely. "See," said the former, "it is here your sitting room, with three pleasant windows, and a bit of a fireplace under this wooden mantel. When it is dressed with something bright it will not so bare seem. Here are two cosey bedrooms with the air and light, and a so large closet between, besides this cunning little bath-apartment, which I know you will much prize. Then here," throwing open a door, "is your kitchen, with two fine windows, and this tiny range. Is it not pretty?"
She ran about, showing its conveniences, and explaining how these apartment-cottages were built by a humane society, to furnish comfortable homes for those who had little means, ending:—
"And the rent, my dear, it is so small—so very small—only a little ten dollars a month!"
It did not seem small to Sara, but she would not damp the madame's enthusiasm by saying so; and in time she learned to appreciate, and be grateful for, this really cosey flat at so low a rental.
"The family below is very nice," said madame; "their name it is Hoffstott, and he is a little German baker of much baldness on his head, but greatly smiling and pleasant; the wife is about the same in her width as she is in her height, and laughs with a big mouth, and white teeth fine to see; and they have two little girls with yellow braids, like that candy of molasses Miss Zeba did have in her windows—and all so clean! Ah!" with a charming gesture, "it do shine through every room with soap and sand, and the brush that scrubs!"
"Dear me!" sighed Sara, "I'm afraid I can never suit them then; baby will get things around so!"
"Never do you fear of yourself, little princess!" tapping her gently on the shoulder. "I can still in my mind see your beautiful white floor and shining window-panes, down there by the sea. You, too, are clean, my sweet child, I know! Now, have you any supper had?"
"Why, no, not a bit!" laughing. "I had almost forgotten."
"Well, I hadn't," said Morton, "I'm about starved!"
"I, too!" cried Molly, and the baby put in a pathetic plea for "bed-e- mik" that was irresistible.
"Ah, such fun!" cried the madame merrily, as she whisked off her wraps. "I did think it would be so, and I had that good Hoffstott to send us a nice little tin kitchen that I now have hidden away in the warm oven; and see! I did take some dishes out of the barrel. We will have a supper to make achefrave with envy soon!"
If it would hardly produce so dire an effect on a head-cook, it certainly gave supreme satisfaction to the partakers; for in the tin kitchen, which seemed to prying Molly like some Fortunatus box, was a dear little pot of baked beans, some steaming rolls, and potatoes baked in their jackets, while from a cooler place came a dainty glass of jam, and some cake.
It was now dark, and the children felt surrounded by wonders. As Molly expressed it, "Madame just turned a handle, and the light shot out; and turned another, and the water fell out;" and she asked, innocently enough, if, when they wanted milk or tea, all that people had to do here was just to move a handle, and let it run out of the wall! But madame, after her laughter, answered this by proceeding to steep some tea in an odd little contrivance over the gas-jet, much as Sara did over the log- fire at home; but neither Morton nor Molly would have been surprised to see food come sliding in, all cooked, or clothes all made, by the simple turn of a crank, so like fairyland was it all.
When, at length, the kind madame left them, Sara looked about her with an odd feeling, half forlorn, half thankful.
It was certainly a snug little haven, yet everything was so new and strange she felt as if she could never get used to it. But, during the next day or two, which was passed busily, getting the rooms into better shape, she gradually grew accustomed to the odd contrivances, and acknowledged their convenience. Mrs. Hoffstott came up, and kindly offered her services, and the baby took such a fancy to the good-natured German woman that he would hardly leave her for any one but Sara.
As to the little girls, they fraternized with Morton and Molly at once, and introduced them to their home below, and their father's shop on a neighboring street, before the day was over.
By Sunday morning—their flitting had been on a certain Thursday— everything was in excellent order, and Sara had begun to feel that the little flat was indeed home; so the blessed day was spent in the quiet and rest they all needed. As they sat around the tiny grate in the twilight, Morton looked slowly all about him. The room was square, with a large double window in front, and a single one at the side. By the madame's suggestion, and with her help, these windows and the mantel- shelf had been prettily draped with inexpensive material, which was, however, delicate in tint and pattern. Upon the floor was the only carpet Sara owned—old-fashioned, and perhaps too bright for artistic tastes, but looking warm and comfortable that chilly spring evening. Then there was a table, also draped, while the collection of minerals was conspicuous upon a set of shelves in one corner; and about the fire were a few home-cushioned chairs. Plain, to homeliness, as it was, yet the effect was so entirely one of brightness and comfort that Morton broke out with,—
"Well, Sara, this is pretty nice! Rather better than Uncle Jabez's old cabin on the Mary Jane, isn't it?"
"I'm so glad you think so, Morton! And I'm sure you will like school here. Mrs. Hoffstott has taken such a fancy to baby that she will take care of him for me until I can find some one else; so tomorrow we begin our education,—you and Molly and I."
"You, Sara? How funny! Why, you are through with yours, aren't you?"
"No, Molly, I sometimes think I am just beginning; and if you dread the starting in to-morrow, so do I! Bring the Bible, Morton, and let's read a chapter, to give us courage for the ordeal."
It was indeed an ordeal! After starting off the children, with the little Hoffstotts to pilot them, and seeing baby happy with some toys in their mother's trim kitchen, Sara put on her modest wraps, and walked briskly, not giving her courage time to weaken, from the little court toward College Avenue. At its farther end she was to meet Professor Grandet, who lived there in a professional boarding-house of intense respectability and learning, from whence he was to accompany her to the museum, a programme which had been arranged with Sara by himself and madame, when they had called Saturday evening.
She found him awaiting her in the doorway, beside his wife, who greeted her with a cheery word, and bade her, laughingly, have no fear, for she knew all about professors, and really, in most things, they were no wiser than common people! Then, laughing mischievously in her husband's face, she gave him a little push down the steps, which came near upsetting both his balance and his dignity. But before he could turn to remonstrate she was volubly bidding him not to go off into a brown study over some plesiosaurus, and forget all about his charge, or make a mistake and introduce her to the dinotherium, instead of Professor Macon; then, gayly waving her hand, she vanished behind the closing door.
"She has ze spirits zat are high—she!" he said with a smile, for everything this bonny wife did seemed good to him. "It is ze best sing zat it ees thus, for she ees much alone—la pauvre petite!Now, I must zis sing say to you, Mees Sara; it will not be allowed zat you keep zat mos' fine colleczione while ze college have you in employ—zat ees contraire to ze rule. What would you with it then? If you it will zell, I s'all be mos' happy to buy, eh?"
"Certainly, if it is against the rule to keep it; but that seems queer!"
"But no, it ees quite right, you zee? Ze collecziones mus' be for ze college—all—no private ones; it will not do."
"Yes, I see; all must work for the general good when making a collection."
"Yes, yes, it ees so."
They were now passing into the museum building, whose wide and lofty corridors sent a thrill of awe through the impressionable girl. Feeling very small and young, she followed the professor over the tiled floors, then through two or three large apartments filled with strange looking beasts and birds of a startling naturalness, past long glass cases, where she caught hasty glimpses of everything possible in shell, bone, stone, or mineral, then across a narrow corridor, where the professor stopped and tapped at a door.
"Enter!" was called loudly from within, and they obeyed.
It was a bright, sunny room they stepped into, not large, in comparison with those they had passed through, though here, too, were smaller glass cases, as well as tables heaped with jars and specimens, and two knee- hole desks of fair size.
From one of these a gentleman advanced; not a large man, but having a fine head and face. His black hair was thrown carelessly back from a broad white forehead, while his mouth and chin were concealed under a full dark beard. His eyes, of the same dusky hue, peered keenly through glasses.
"Professor, here I have mine leetle vriend, Mees Sara Olmstead; and zis,Mees Sara, ees ze good man with whom you do vork, Professor Macon."
The professor and his new assistant shook hands, while the latter felt she herself was being classified and labelled by those penetrating orbs.
"I'm happy to meet Miss Olmstead; pray be seated. Don't hurry away,Professor Grandet; can't you sit down a while, also?"
"Not zis morning, t'anks; I haf mooch to do. Well, Mees, I leaves you in good hands;au revoir."
"Good-morning; and thank you," said Sara timidly.
"Thou art mos' velcome; adieu!" and with a flourish of his hat he was gone.
"You may take off your wraps in here, if you please, Miss Olmstead," said Professor Macon, leading the way to a small cloak-room; then, as she returned unbonneted, he pointed to the desk near his own.
"This is your place, and for this morning your work will be labelling these specimens. When you are the least uncertain about one, speak to me, please. You will find everything needed before you." He returned to his own work, and Sara soon grew absorbed in hers; for it was the kind of task she liked, and had often spent hours over, for pure amusement. How it brought back the shore and the cliffs! The long rambles inland, also, and the evenings on the floor amid her specimens, down before the drift-wood fire. She forgot her surroundings finally, so interested was she; and once the professor, glancing up, smiled a little at sight of the bent head and eager, intent face. He watched her, unperceived, for some seconds, then, with a nod of satisfaction, returned to his own labors.
The three morning hours passed as one in this congenial labor, then there was the brisk walk home to meet the children at a light lunch, and look after baby. She found the little fellow supremely contented with his new quarters, having made loving advances to a gray kitten who, though suspicious of his favors, was too meek to escape them; and Mrs. Hoffstott declared he had been "so goot as nefar vas!" The older children were voluble over their school, Morton talking most of the great, cheerful rooms, with their wonderful conveniences for study; while Molly expatiated at large over a little girl with the euphonious name of Henrietta May Hendrington, with whom she seemed to have fallen rapturously in love!
Half-past one found them all at work again, and the afternoon hours were even shorter than those of the morning to all but baby, who began to grow homesick towards four o'clock, and who could not be comforted, even by the children, who were out of school at three. He wanted his "Wawa," and no one else. It was really pathetic to see how the little fellow clung to her, hiding his pretty wet eyes in her neck, and lovingly patting her shoulder, as he crooned his wordless reproaches in her ear, and Mrs. Hoffstott, looking on, thought this must indeed be a good sister to win such hearty affection, and felt her own motherly heart warm to the forlorn little orphaned brood. But, as Sara climbed the steep staircase, with the child clasped close, and opened the door of their little snuggery above, her heart was full. How had the loving Father cared for his children! Here she was, a princess indeed, in her own domain, surrounded by her loving subjects; and when she shut the door she seemed to shut out sorrow and care, for here all was peace.
How they enjoyed the nice hot supper, and the visit afterward, baby in Sara's lap, warming his pink toes before the bit of a blaze, which these chill nights of early spring demanded! Then, when the little fellow was in bed, out came the books, and all was still, as Molly hunted out lakes and rivers, Morton puzzled over fractions, and Sara revelled in Owen, ready at any moment to give her help to the younger ones.
Perhaps some dainty miss of eighteen, enjoying her first winter in "society," and counting up her bouquets and admirers after last night's party, might think it too tame an existence; but to Sara, reared amid toil, privation, and loneliness, it was a veritable bit of Eden.
It could not be expected that such a beautiful girl as Sara could cross the campus several times a day, and pass unobserved by the hundreds of students who felt this to be their special stalking-ground; and finally, one morning when an unusual number of graceless young "Sophs" and "Freshes" were on guard there, she was subjected to so many stares, smiles, touchings of the hat, and half-heard remarks, that she entered the workroom with flushed cheeks and a perturbed manner which could not well escape the professor's keen eyes.
"You have walked too fast, Miss Olmstead; there is no such hurry these sunny mornings."
"It isn't that, sir; I—it is not agreeable crossing the campus."
"Ah!" with a lift of the eyebrows and a quizzical look at the lovely disturbed face before him. "I can well believe it! Well, there's a better way, if you would like to try it; at least a more secluded one," giving her a keen glance. "When you come down College Avenue, watch till you see a large brown house with a tower, and a porch with heavy pillars"—
"Oh, yes, sir; and a deep green lawn in front; I've often noticed it."
"Very well," smiling agreeably, "that's my home. Turn in at the carriage-drive, and follow it until you see an opening in the hedge; go through, and keep to the little foot-path; it will bring you here, for it's my own private way."
"Thank you," said Sara, "I will be very glad to use it," and seated herself at her desk in the business-like way she was acquiring, much to the professor's secret amusement.
That noon, as he sat opposite his wife at table, he said,—
"Marian, I want you to look out of the window about a quarter past one, and you will see arara avis."
"Goodness! Henry, you're not having any of those horrid dinornis things brought to the house, are you?"
He laughed.
"No, my dear; this rare bird I have in mind is simply a handsome girl, who doesn't enjoy being stared at by the students,—in a word, my little helper, Miss Olmstead,—and I've told her to travel by my own cross- roads, because she comes in all of a flutter, mornings, after running the gantlet of those college scamps on the campus."
His wife gave a quick, appreciative nod. She was a pale, dark-eyed woman, with a face of rare intelligence and sweetness.
"Indeed I do want a peep at her, Henry; she's the fisher-girl with the family on her hands, that Madame Grandet told us about, isn't she?"
"Yes, the same; let me give you another croquette, wife." "No, thanks;I've sufficient. And how does she appear, very provincial?"
"Not at all, that I can see, unless to be modest as a violet, and business-like as a night-editor, be provincial. She speaks good English, and sensible, too, in a peculiarly pleasing voice, and has the most finished manners, to my notion; for she goes quietly about her affairs without fuss or remark, and says what there is to say in brief, clean words. No, she is anything butoutre."
"Really, my dear, I never heard you praise a woman so highly before."
He smiled quietly.
"I neither praise nor dispraise, Marian; they are, with one notable exception simply out of my ken, ordinarily; but I like this little girl, where she is, unusually well."
"Be sure, then, I shall watch for her with all my eyes! Don't forget your papers, dear; oh, and turn your pockets inside out at once, please, till I see if you have any of my letters yet undelivered!"
He obeyed with a matter-of-course air, which showed this to be a common occurrence with the absent-minded scientist, and having yielded up two dainty, square missives, which he had not carried more than two days, took his departure.
An hour later Sara turned in at the designated carriage-drive, and followed its windings up near the house, then off towards the dividing hedge, never seeing two bright, interested eyes which were peering through the filmy lace curtains, and taking pleased note of her trim, erect figure in its black dress, and lovely, thoughtful face, below its plain straw hat; then passed through the hedge, and, with all the delight of a child exploring some bit of woodland, followed the well- worn little path, which crossed a corner of the next yard, then skirted a tennis-court, wound by a rather suspicious-looking dog-kennel, then led into an unused grassy lane, reminding her so gently of home that she longed to linger; but, pressing on in her narrow way, she finally brought up before a gray stone pile, in which was a small door, and, opening it with some caution, found herself in the tiny square entry just back of the familiar cloak-room.
Professor Macon took in her pleased face at a glance.
"You liked my little by-way?" he asked.
"Immensely!" with a hearty accent. "May I always use it?"
"Most assuredly!" and without more words both bent to their absorbing tasks.
The sale of Sara's collection to Professor Grandet brought her a neat little sum, with which she added a few much-needed articles of furniture to her rooms, making them more modern and comfortable; and through Mrs. Hoffstott she finally succeeded in finding a trusty little girl, who was glad to come during the hours of Sara's absence to tend baby and do the left-over bits of work for the pittance she could afford to pay. Even this left a perilously small amount for the house expenses, and the clothing of the four; but the latter necessity was made easier by Madame Grandet and Miss Prue, both of whom found they had many articles too good to throw away. The latter had pressed enough of these upon Sara, during the packing, to make Molly and herself quite comfortable, for, as Miss Prue always wore black, her dresses were suitable now; and, the madame had come to the rescue with some of the professor's cast-off trousers for Morton's use.
It was one Saturday afternoon, and Sara, consequently, at home by three o'clock, when she stood, armed with a pattern and some formidable- looking shears, about to attack a light gray pair of these, when there came a quick little "rat-tat-tat" at the door.
"Open it, Molly," she said abstractedly, thinking it might be either Kathie or Grisel; but instead of the round pink and white face and yellow braids she looked for, there appeared a tall lady, richly dressed, whose pale, fine countenance was quite unfamiliar.
The lady advanced.
"This is Miss Olmstead, I know; and I am Mrs. Macon. I have often seen you through the window at home."
Sara greeted her with a blush, and drew forward the best chair, inwardly experiencing a deep regret that she had not changed the baby's pinafore, and had kept her cutting operations in the parlor.
Mrs. Macon, however, seemed to notice neither, but praised the baby's pretty rings of hair, saying he reminded her of one of Raphael's cherubs, and asked Molly about her school, taking in, with evident amusement, the child's original answers, and little twists and tosses, till Sara could recover her equanimity, and be her own quiet self once more. Then she turned to her with some word of commendation for her laborious life, and added, with a light laugh,—
"You looked quite fierce with your great scissors as I came in. It wasn't the baby's hair you thought of cutting, I hope?" "Oh, no, indeed! I wouldn't cut his dear little curls for anything! I was trying to—to cut out some pants for Morton."
"You poor child! What a genius you must be to attempt it! Do you think you can?"
The tone of perfectcamaraderieseemed to drive away the last vestige of Sara's shyness.
"I have once or twice at home, but it's different here: the boys dress better, you see, and Morton's getting very particular. I've a good pattern, but I do feel a bit frightened to put my scissors into the goods."
"Of course you do," rising, and going over to the table to look at the pattern pinned carefully over the old garment. "But, my dear, couldn't you cut to better advantage by turning this a little? Here, let me show you."
With a rapid movement she unfastened and cast aside the jetted lace wrap she wore, and filling her mouth with pins, after the manner of womankind, began mumbling her explanations, as she turned and twisted the paper about, Sara, meanwhile, looking on with the earnestness of a priestess of Athene, listening to her oracle.
Months of meeting in fashionable parlors could not have made them so intimate as those ten minutes over that pattern, while their heads bobbed together, and their tongues ran on in unison. For when it was adjusted, Mrs. Macon insisted on superintending the cutting, and when this was satisfactorily accomplished, to the exclusion of the one worn place, and the ink-spatters, she was as elated as Sara herself.
"There! We've done it, we've done it! Now, if you only get them together right; you're sure you'll remember which is the front, and which the back, and when you stitch them—where's your machine?"
"I haven't any," said Sara.
"Dear heart! And were you going to sew those long seams by hand?"
Sara nodded deprecatingly, as much as to say she knew it was wrong not to have a machine, but she couldn't help it; and her visitor was so charmed with the look in her sweet eyes, that she gave her cheek a playful little tap as she said,—
"It's not to be thought of! I've an excellent machine which stands useless half the time; you shall come and learn to use it: this will be just the thing to begin on. Why can't you come now? I'm anxious to see them underway, and, besides, I haven't a doubt Morton needs them; boys always are needing new trousers!"
Sara had to acknowledge that he did; and the upshot was, that in less time than it takes to tell it, baby was turned over to Molly, and Sara, with her bundle, found herself in Mrs. Macon's carriage, riding home with her, to the astonishment of the coachman, who had been preparing his mind for a long, sleepy afternoon on the box, while his mistress consulted her list, and made her formal visits. The fact is, she had forgotten all about them; just now the most interesting thing in her rather monotonous life was Sara and those trousers. An acquaintance begun in this manner could never be quite formal again. Mrs. Macon was warm-hearted, and often-times weary of doing nothing in her great silent, childless house. She adopted Sara and her little brood from that moment, and to be adopted by Marion Macon was to fall into good and gracious hands.
She led Sara, now, straight to the sewing-room, in which was the machine, throwing wide the blinds of the broad window before which it was placed.
"Did you ever use one?" she asked anxiously, as she removed the cover.
"Yes, once or twice. Miss Plunkett had one."
"Miss Plunkett; that's a name I know. I have heard my mother mention aCaptain Plunkett she knew as a girl; they were a good family, thePlunketts. Then you know them?"
Sara spoke of the life-long friendship between that family and her own, but in so modest a way that the lady's respect for her increased with every word; but both were too intent on business to give much time to genealogy.
Sara proved an apt learner, and soon was making the treadle fly, while her hostess, seeing her well underway, ran down-stairs for a time. When she came back Sara had performed the cunning task of getting the pockets in place, and was finishing off the long seams.
"How rapidly you work!" cried her new friend. "My husband told me how business-like you were."
"Did he say so? I'm glad he thinks I am!" cried Sara, much pleased. "It would be so annoying to a man like him if I were not."
"And why to him especially, Miss Olmstead?" asked the wife curiously.
"Because he is absorbed in his work, and cares for nothing outside. In fact, one always is with that work," enthusiastically; "it takes your whole being for the time."
"Yet the last girl he had was a dreadful little idler, and would interrupt him in the midst of his most interesting researches to ask the silliest questions."
Sara shook her head mournfully. "I don't see how she could!"
"Well, to tell the truth," bending forward confidentially, "isn't it awfully dry and uninteresting? There! I wouldn't dare lisp it before my husband, but isn't there a good deal of—of—well, humbug, about it?"
"Humbug!" Sara's eyes glowed. "That's because you haven't studied these things, Mrs. Macon. Think, think what it must be to have your husband's power to peer into the past!
"Think of taking two or three bones, and from them constructing an animal now extinct; or, think of knowing from an impress on a stone, made years ago, what animal had walked over its then soft surface. Humbug! oh, Mrs. Macon!"
The lady laughed.
"Well, don't for mercy's sake, ever hint that I suggested such a thing; I see you're nearly as far gone as Henry himself. But, as for me, I must say I can't get specially interested in post-pliocene things, when there's so much going on around us; and how you, with all those children to look after, and their clothes to make, can care for fossils and bones, and bits of rock and mineral, is a conundrum to me."
"I hope I don't neglect the children for the bones," said Sara, so deprecatingly that Mrs. Macon laughed again.
"Don't worry about that! They look all right, anyhow, what I've seen of them. Now come, it's getting too dark to sew, and you have these nicely together; fold them up, child, and come down-stairs with me."
This was the first really elegant house Sara had ever entered; and as she followed the lady over the soft carpets, past bronze and marble, into a beautiful room, through whose western end, wholly of glass, came a rosy glow from the setting sun, she could hardly keep back her cry of delight. It was the dining-room, and seemed dazzling to Sara, with its rich tones in wall and rug, its buffet a-glitter with glass and silver, and its green garlanded windows; but her native instincts were nice, so it was only in her eyes that this astonished admiration found expression.
Mrs. Macon made a careless gesture towards the table, which was partly laid.
"Sit down, my dear," she said, "and we will have a bit of a supper together; Mr. Macon has gone into the city, and won't be back until a very late dinner. How do you take your tea, please?"
It was a delectable little spread, nearly all the dishes being novelties to Sara, even the familiar lobster being scarcely recognizable in its Frenchy dress; but she felt the refinement and delicacy of it all, as an infant feels the softness of velvet, not comprehending, only enjoying.
In speaking of it afterwards to the children she remarked,—
"I can't tell you what it was, for I have eaten meals I really relished better; but it was there, and I have never experienced it anywhere else, not even at Miss Prue's. It seemed as if I were in a palace, with soft music and sweet odors about me; yet there was no music, and the only fragrance was from the tea. No, I can't tell what it was; but sometime— _some_time, Molly, I hope you will feel it too!"
"Well, if it's going to make me feel solemn and creepy I don't want to," said that young damsel with decision. "That's the way I felt the first few Sundays in the church we go to here; it was so big and high, and had so many colors on the walls, and such dark, purple corners. I kept expecting something to happen; but I'm getting over it a little, for nothing ever does, you know, except the preaching and singing. Only, Sara, that reminds me: there's one thing I've been going to ask you about this ever so long; are the singers all hunchbacks, like Zeba Osterhaus?"
"Dear me! no, Molly, I hope not. What a question!"
"Well, then, what makes them hide so behind those red curtains? I've tried and tried to see if they were like other folks, but I couldn't; and if they are, I don't see why they act so queer!"
Sara tried to explain, but Molly evidently still held to her original opinion; there was some mysterious reason for their modesty, else why did they not stand out plain and high, as did the village choir at home? And it was many weeks before she could be moved from her stand in the matter.
Sara's work went on much the same after the close of the collegiate year, though now Professor Macon was away a large part of the time; yet, as he was constantly sending home cases of specimens, she was usually kept nearly as busy as before. But one day, sitting at her desk with only a few unimportant odds and ends of work before her, her thoughts drifted away, and soon formed themselves into words and sentences which seemed clamoring for definite expression. She seized her pen and some blank paper, setting them down as rapidly as possible, and before she quite realized what she was about had written several pages. Finally, stopping to glance over her work, she felt encouraged to continue it, which she did till her working-hours were over. That night more thoughts came to her, and the next day she completed the article. Reading it over, and correcting it carefully, she decided to copy it; and, while the impulse was upon her, even had the audacity to enclose it in an envelope and send it to a certain magazine having scientific tendencies, which came to the museum regularly.
It was an article describing some oolitic formations she had been much interested in when at the old home; and she told of her ramblings, speculations, and discoveries, in a modest, face-to-face way which gave them a certain interest in addition to their scientific value.
Several days passed, and she had given up her fledgeling for lost, when one morning she saw amid the mail upon the professor's desk an envelope addressed to herself, and opening it found with astonishment that it was an acceptance of her sketch, enclosing a check for what seemed to her a large amount. That, she often said afterwards, was the proudest moment of her life. Her whole frame thrilled with keenest satisfaction, her whole soul was uplifted in thanks for this gift that seemed directly from above.
The professor, back from his trip, entered just then, saw the glow on her face, and looked the inquiry he would not speak. But Sara understood the look.
"I have been much pleased," she explained, "by this." and handed him the enclosure.
"What! Really an article in theScience Made Popular?Well, Miss Olmstead, you are to be congratulated!" holding out his hand with great cordiality. "May I ask what you wrote about?"
She told him, and he nodded vigorously.
"Very good, very good! I shall watch for its appearance; and now I've a proposition to make you. Would you like to study Latin and French?"
"I?" gasped Sara.
"Yes; they are much needed in our work, as well as German and Greek; but there must be a beginning. I have all the books you will need, and will hear your Latin recitation every morning. It won't take long, and I'm sure Madame Grandet will help you with the French."
"But they're going away soon, are they not?"
"He is, but she has half decided to remain. It's so delightfully quiet here in summer, and only a short run to the seashore; besides, she likes her boarding-place."
Sara's eyes shone.
"I think every one is very good to me," she said softly.
"Heaven not only helps those who help themselves, but earth, too, Miss Olmstead; which is only another way of saying that real effort always brings appreciation. Now we'll take hold of that last case I sent, if you please. I'll bring your books this afternoon—or, no; better stop in and let Mrs. Macon give them to you; she always enjoys a visit, you know."
But pleasure and pain always keep as close together as light and shadow; and while everything seemed going so prosperously with Sara in the business of her life, there came a new worry at home. Baby was evidently ailing. Each morning it became harder to leave that supplicating little face, and she would turn back to reiterate cautions to Molly, who, being out of school now, saved the extra expense of the little nurse-girl. Even after she had actually torn herself away from the fretful baby voice begging pitifully,—